Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Aru: Kashmiri khander (wedding) and the wazwan

Aru is a charming
pocket-size hamlet close to Pahalgham. We are on a day-trip here and have
footed around it, admired its beauteous sights and squinting green meadows,
plucked apples off trees, done the pony rides, got an enthusiastic update on
the list of movies shot here and are about to head back to base when we ask our
cabbie Khursheed if there is something very typical to the village we can see.
He mulls over for a bit before hesitatingly asking if we would be keen in
seeing a typical Kashmiri village khander (wedding). Could we have asked for
anything better!

The next
moment we are being welcomed at the bride's sprawling home. It is the wedding
of Shaheena. Her groom has arrived from a few villages away and is shyly
sitting with the boys. Maqbool Hasan, the bride's father, is playing the
gracious host and immediately comes forward to greet us. As pleasantries are
being exchanged we witness a flurry of activity. The wazwan has been announced.
We ask Hasan if we can stay on for a while and take a look at the proceedings.
"Surely! I invite you to partake of the wazwan with us," he says
hospitably.

In a
Kashmiri wedding, the wazwan, a multi-course feast, is the epitome of
celebrations and the most important person after the couple is the vasta waza,
or head chef. It's not unusual for parents to postpone the marriage if the
waza of their choice is not available on the chosen day! Hasan triumphantly
says he was lucky to have booked the waza in time as autumn is the season for
weddings. He marches us to the spot where the backroom boys, the junior wazas,
are getting ready to present the fare with a flourish.

Preparation
for the wazwan had begun the night before when the vasta waza had arrived with
his band of wazas. Usually their number is anywhere between 15 to 50, depending
on the size of the gathering. The term wazwan means 'cook's shop’, which was
until the contemporary world gave the expression a whole new twist of
a sensory experience, which it definitely is.

Behind the scene

The pots
are bubbling with all that’s to be served in a while and there is a heady mix
of aromas. "The preparation is exacting and every step is done at the
venue, from grinding of spices to pounding of meat. Each ingredient has to
be fresh; the concept of something coming out of the cold storage is
non-existent," a waza tells us. An emulsion of onion-garlic-pran (shallots),
whole spices and moval or dried cockscomb for colouring are some of the basic
ingredients in the Muslim style of cooking. The Pandits prefer using crushed
spices, asafoetida and red chillies. Mustard oil, saunf (aniseed), saunth
(ginger powder) and saffron remain common to both. With the Valley reaping a
bountiful harvest of fruit, dried as well as fresh fruits are also tossed into
dishes.

The
wazwan is cooked traditionally in a veurabal or an open-air kitchen, in large
round-bottomed, small-necked copper pots and on wood-fire. A customised
fireplace, about 12' -15' long and around 1.5' high, is created for the
purpose. "This arrangement is known as veura,"
Hasan enlightens us, adding, "In Kashmiri cooking ingredients
are added at regular intervals and need to be stirred constantly. The
convenient height and length of the veura facilitates that. Customarily, ours
is slow cooking—the culinary art having travelled here from Persia centuries
ago—and the regulated heat of firewood is ideal for that." I compliment
Hasan on his almost-academic style of explanation at which he laughs heartily
and says, "We are all passionate about food. We don't like our flavours
messed up (read fusion). A dish should taste as it always has. We may eat
little but we will have only the best!"

The
gathering is settling down for the wazwan and we do not want to intrude right
away. Moreover, we are keen to meet the bride. Hasan readily agrees and yells
out to his wife. She leads us upstairs to an unadorned room where sits Shaheena
attired in radiant red, looking pretty in her simplicity. She is surrounded by
a crowd of aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Her marriage rituals are yet to
take place and she has an anxious expression. Someone teases her on that and
she breaks into a smile. We chat with her for a while and intrigue her with our
status: women of all ages from one family. As we are about to leave, almost
instantly and true to tradition, we dip into our wallets and present her shagun
(token). She is initially reluctant to take it but when the eldest among us
says it is dua (blessing) she smilingly agrees. Seated next to Shaheena is her
brother making a note of all she’s been receiving. He asks his mother how he
should put down our token. "From mas (maternal aunts) and beni
(sisters)," she smiles, immediately forging a bond the way only Indians
can!

The Feast

Wedding
guests are sprawled all over the garden and a few men have taken their place on
the dastarkhawan (floor-covering) as they await the servers to come around with
the first course of the wazwan. We are lead to the shamiyana (ceremonial
tent) meant for women, who are sitting huddled on the ground and happily
chatting. Looking at them is like seeing a sea of luminous faces sans any
adornment, dressed in bright pherans and colourful head-scarves. What beauty!
If there is one aspect that has refreshingly stood out in this village wedding
it is the lack of extravagance. It is a cosy affair; a sharp contrast to
ostentatious city weddings.

The
arrival of an attendant carrying a tash-t-nari, the traditional jug
and basin meant for washing hands at your individual place, signals the
start of the service. It is truly a page out of old-world
hospitality, decadent to say the least. Next follows the all-important
trami or large nickle-plated copper platter laden with fragrant steamed rice
(it’s a locally grown variety) topped with a long seek kebab (skewered mutton) running
the length of the dish, and two servings of methi maz (mutton cooked with fenugreek)
on either side. Each trami, about 18" in diameter, is shared by four
persons and the methi maaz in a way demarcates boundaries as guests tunnel
their way through the rice with their hands—cutlery is a no-no—to savour the
first course, which is a sort of mezze. The next item is two large pieces of tabak
maaz (ribs marinated in curd and pan-fried) and kokar (chicken in gravy). There
is complete silence in the shamiyana as the ladies are all engrossed in the
food. The servers are the only ones rushing in and out with big pots.

​​The
second course follows soon and the first to be served is rista (mutton
balls in reddish gravy), and in sequence comes daniwala qorma (mixed meat
curry), ruvangan chaman (cottage cheese in tomato gravy) and ab gosht (meat
prepared in milk). Each dish has a distinct lip-smacking flavour and colour. An
assortment of tangy chutneys made with walnut and radish are the
accompaniments as are small bowls of sweetened curd, the sweetness subtly
blunting the salt-spice and adding to the enhancement of flavours. The final
dish of the feast is gustaba (mutton balls in silken textured curd gravy). It's
a large ball and only one piece is served per trami; and in a way it’s the
full-stop to a wazwan. A round of firni (rice pudding) and many rounds of
kehva (cardamom flavoured green tea served with slivers of almond), however,
follow.

"The
wazwan in a big city like Srinagar will have many more servings per course. A
lot of it goes waste. Around 1.5 kg to 2 kg assorted meat per trami is more
than sufficient. In the villages we believe in delighting our guests but not
going overboard."Hasan tells us. While my family has enjoyed eating from a
trami, being a vegetarian I relished just a bit of the food; but what an
experience it has been. A wazwan is truly a culinary celebration! Aru will
always remain special on that account.

Getting there:Srinagar-Pahalgam is 4.5 hrs by road. Pahalgam to
Aru is 12 km.